A Stranger in a Foreign Land
by amynagata
Summary: As they get ready to face God himself, Sam and Dean Winchester seek powerful allies, but when they try to bring a certain archangel back, they also come across a new prophet. Except she's not quite new.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Egypt. More than thirteen centuries before the Christ was born.

The busy streets of the city were dead silent. The quiet lapping of the Nile was louder than the air. It was like the heat, and the dust, and the sand had muffled everything else.

Rapid footsteps coming from the distance broke the peace. A dozen soldiers went through the empty houses, disciplined and cruel, shamelessly breaking the few priced possessions of the people living there. From her hiding spot, a young Levite watched them, barely breathing, fearing that they might spot her too soon and punish her as they did with the other Hebrews. Her light brown hair stuck to her forehead and a precious package held close against her beating chest, she was waiting for the exact right moment.

Finally, all of them had turned their back on her, and there was her chance! The river was only a hundred and fifty feet across this narrow road; so if she raced fast, she could succeed.

In her arms, the package was getting agitated. Behind her, the soldiers were getting more and more angry, as everyone on this street had left long before they arrived. When she threw herself towards the water, all of them screamed and followed her. With only a few seconds advantage, she got down on the edge, scratching her knees on the rocks, and took a last quick look at the infant she was holding.

Five seconds later, she threw the baby in the Nile.

Pharaoh's men grabbed her, and she knew she only had several minutes to live. But it didn't matter. With tears in her eyes, Yokheved still fought them for a chance to watch her precious package float away. Her daughter would survive the monarch's cruel orders.

Just like the angel said.

**Chapter 1**

Since she was too busy shouting along to the radio, the blonde nearly missed her exit and turned the wheel at the very last moment. Still smiling, despite just having escaped an accident, she was back on the right track and carelessly followed the direction to Saint Modena's church. Entering the parking lot by largely overstepping the sidewalk, the car strongly blasted _Superstition_ by Stevie Wonder at Father Kasdan, who was waiting on the church square. He wondered how in the name of the Lord did the driver park _and_ tap the dashboard in rhythm at the same goddamn time.

She did not even get out of the car, and the man of faith had to walk to the window to open the conversation. She excitedly smiled at him and lowered her sunglasses, like she would somehow hear him better through the music.

"**Sup' Padre?!**" she screamed.

For an answer, he gestured for her to stop her racket, and beckoned her over to the church.

"**Buzzkill**," the woman mumbled as she got out of the car.

Kasdan opened the enormous wood door with unsettling facility, and she traded her glasses for a long denim jacket before entering the freezing cold nave. Without even thinking about it, she bathed her hands in the marble stoup placed near the entrance. Kasdan took a minute to detail her face, eager to finally find signs of age: a few wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth, which had been there for the past fifty years he'd known her, and that was it. He had accepted her nature long ago, but was still baffled by the number she had revealed the last time he dared to ask about her age. During the time he had known her, although she regularly changed hairstyles and followed very specific fashion trends, she had kept the same light but crispy fake blond hair, untamed and now tied in an uncontrolled bun on top of her head; the same slightly golden skin tone; the same playful brown eyes; and the same frail body, like she could break at the first gust of wind—she never had. However, for his part, since their first encounter in 1961, his hair had gotten terribly gray and his face considerably older, much to his regret.

Disciplined, the woman made the Sign of the Cross, and he gravely took her hands in his. As he was used to them, he did not say a word about the awful burn scars he could feel all over her palms.

"**So, for real, why did you call me?**" she asked with a shy voice, unsettled by his seriousness. Not that Father Kasdan was usually a joker, but he still seemed way more serious than the last time she was there.

"**Some young lads came here asking questions**," he explained.

"**What questions?**" she frowned.

"**They wanted to know more about a book they came upon.**"

"**A book?**" she repeated in a smile.

He made her drive all the way from Perma, Montana… for a _book?_ Did it make him think about her, or something? After a minute of sounding out his eyes in search of an answer, she finally invited him to elaborate: "**How is this my concern, Father?**"

"**You seem to have forgotten that you were once a writer**," he calmly answered.

Her eyes widened with surprise as she finally understood, and briskly took her hands out of the priest's grasp.

Rewinding nine years back, she pictured herself at a flea market in Syracuse, stumbling upon some very disturbing pages. She wasn't troubled by the words, or the letters, or the paper, or anything, really. It was the _aura_ wrapped around them. She had spent about fifteen minutes leafing through the series of books when the owner urged her to purchase or to leave his property alone. Of course, she did not have a dime in her pocket; she hadn't planned to go through the market, and she hadn't planned to stop at that stall… Hell, the whole reason she was in Syracuse was a fluke. But she felt like she had to be there, she had to go check out that street, and she had to stop in front of that stand. She had to buy those books. All twenty-four of them. She searched actively in her bag for some kind of money, but the only thing she had was her own book. "**I'll trade you.**" she had declared while pulling out a very old hardcover, a real incunabulum that time didn't spare. The cover was poorly sewed and very bruised, but you could still see the engraving right in the center.

שְׁמוֹת. _SHEMOT._

She instantly recognized the same letters on the volume Father Kasdan withdrew from his large scarf.

"**I asked if I could keep it for further examination.**" he said as he handed it to her. Hesitant, she grabbed the thick assembly of pages and felt immediate relief. "**You should destroy it and go, girl.**"

The woman entered a perfect state of contemplation of her work. _Oh no_, she would not destroy it. And she would not give it away again. _Ever_. Silence wrapped around the both of them, and it took the prophet a great deal of strength to come out of it.

"Those lads," she murmured, "who were they?"

"**They said they were federal agents, but I don't think so. There were two of them.**"

"… **Weird. What did they say their names were?**"

Before he could answer that, the sound of footsteps on their right caught their attention. Instinct made the woman protect her work by discreetly sliding it inside her vest, as the outline of a person appeared behind one of the confessionals.

"**Hello, Moses.**" said the angel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"**Castiel**", the prophet recognized with bitterness.

Moses looked away, fleeing the sight of the angel's true face.

Father Kasdan's eyes widened as their guest advanced towards them.

For the past decades, the man of faith had asked every question he could think of about celestial beings: unenthusiastically, Moses had presented him with her entire knowledge. Castiel's name was mentioned often, although mostly in unflattering contexts, which is why Kasdan understood he was one of Heaven's most faithful soldiers. Now facing a short man in a trench coat, he still knew never to rely on appearances, so, clumsily, he bowed before the apparition.

"**Don't do that, Father,**" the woman scolded him, rolling her eyes.

Kasdan withstood and searched for words he couldn't find, and Castiel awkwardly cleared his vessel's throat. The sound reverberated towards the cold ceiling; silence didn't last long after that.

The woman's raging voice resonated against the walls and the fragile stained-glass windows. "**You have no right to come in here.**"

"**Actually**," he naively responded, "**churches are open for all. And we needed a word, fast.**"

These words did not reassure her in any way, especially since the pronoun he used could only mean more of them. In fact, the thought made Moses feel a little feverish. Castiel could easily tell, even when she tried to hide behind a smug face. "**I have a cellphone, you know.**"

The angel frowned without understanding her sarcasm. "**I didn't have your number.**"

She couldn't help but chuckle. _He hasn't changed. Still a little thick._ Maybe she could distract him and get out of here some way.

"**What do you want?**" the prophet proudly asked.

"**We need an archangel,**" he gravely announced.

Moses scowled. _What for?_ she instantly wanted to ask.

Her curiosity would be the end of her, her mother used to say; history had proved her right. The child always sought answers to the most complex questions, the adolescent was into any drama happening within the palace―and the adult had been the same for two millennia, except now the whole world was her playground. The temptation to discover what Heaven and Hell were up to was stronger than The Rock's love for his wife. Did she really want to show that to him, though? Bravely, she fought her instincts and actually pretended:

"… **So? I haven't seen Lucifer in centuries.**"

Standing next to her, the priest was already feeling queasy because of the way she was addressing a sacred being, but at the mention of the Devil's name, Kasdan choked, and immediately collapsed. Caught off guard, she still managed to hold him strongly as he did the Sign of the Cross like it was some kind of protection._ It's Lucifer, not Voldemort_, the blonde thought. However, she realized that it was a pretty overwhelming name to call in his presence and especially inside a church: immediately shifting her tone, she apologized and showed the door to their uninvited guest. "**I'm so sorry Father, we'll take this outside.**"

Castiel frowned―_is he actually concerned? Or just mimicking human behavior to fool us?_―but simply nodded and lead the way, leaving the woman to reassure her friend. Kasdan's gaze followed the angel out.

"**What is happening?**" The man gasped, pale as a ghost. "**What is this, about the Devil?**"

"**I only saw him once**," she immediately lied. "**You don't worry about that. He's been in the Pit since the dawn of time and he's still there. This is just Castiel trying to scare me, that's all.**"

"**Why would an angel of the Lord want to scare you? Are you in trouble?**"

"**Don't be silly**."

She squinted to reinforce how dumb this truly was, and led him towards one of the nave's benches. Moses gently stroke the priest's arm and put on her most relaxed smile before she assured:

"**I was a prophet. Heaven loves me, alright? I'm gonna settle this, I don't know what's going on but I want no part of it.**" She hugged him close.

Playing it cool was more difficult than usual. This wasn't some stupid man, or the cops, or another kind of people she was used to fool: it was _angels_, for crying out loud. And archangels, apparently, now. If Lucifer, Raphael or Michael were in the picture, chances were she'd never see the priest again. She looked him in the eyes for a minute, hiding her doubts the best she could, before she stood up.

As she passed the entry, she turned around and addressed him with another fake smile, which he timidly returned. The door closed in a loud noise, leaving Kasdan alone with the lamenting figures on the panes. Overwhelmed, he looked up towards the glass depicting the Prophecy of Seventy Weeks and murmured a quiet prayer.

"**Is the man alright?**" Castiel asked when Moses got down the stone steps and joined him on the parking lot.

"**He's fine,**" she spit out, even more annoyed that he didn't know his name. _A man who spent his days praying, and they don't even listen._ Not surprising, but still very very sad.

She crossed her arms and distractingly walked alongside him, bringing the primary subject back in the conversation. "**What's this shit you pulled? About Lucifer?**"

"**Not Lucifer,**" he corrected. "**We need your help with Gabriel.**"

She stopped walking, her slightly tanned cheeks were now reddish. How did he dare bring up this name? She dramatically turned on her heels, like she was about to shoot him with her eyes, which seemed to glow for a second. Her voice sounded even more nasty when she retorted: "**If Gabriel was back, I would know.**"

"**Would you?**" he openly doubted in a sigh, obviously losing patience as well.

Fulminating, she could not even figure out what to answer back, apart from _Fuck you, Castiel, fuck you and all your other angel pals, fuck your prophecies, fuck your God and your archangels and especially Gabriel. Fuck all of you. _Castiel was either referring to her loss of powers, or to the way things ended between her and Gabe in the Promised Land. Either way, he would never have said that back when she was still an active, useful and powerful prophet. She could have burned him alive with a single glare―or so she'd like to think.

"**We were linked**." she foolishly reminded.

Bluff. She had never understood how it worked back then, how could she be sure the link could be active beyond death? Would she actually know if he was resurrected? If death didn't break the bond, what would…? But that feather duster was not allowed to put this into question.

Of course, now, no powers, no archangel, maybe no link: she could only scrutinize his pupils, the rage and the anguish she didn't want to address pinching her lips and reducing her to silence. Castiel bounced on what she said:

"**That is precisely why really need your help**."

"**My help?**"

A chuckle escaped her mouth. A mirthless laugh preceded her growling. "**Last time you guys needed 'help', I did everything you asked, then you left me for dead.**"

The prophet spit out the last word with such dread the angel could feel the weight of thoughts she had been dwelling on for millennia. All the hate, but also the agony that came with it. Castiel remembered her accusation was factually true, but calmly corrected: "**This was not me.**"

The woman ironized. "**Right. 'Not all angels.**'"

This time, Castiel understood she was being sarcastic, because her voice still transpired with irritation as she gestured quotation marks. Smarmy, she added:

"_**You**_**, you're loyal, you I can **_**trust**_**, right? You never stole my staff. You just didn't hear me begging you for help.**"

They glared at each other. Moses was breathing hard, Castiel was evaluating what else he could say without making things worse. He did take her staff, and he did hear―the voice was low, but he heard. He just decided to leave her there to succumb from dehydration or to be eaten by coyotes. His good old self, following orders.

He figured the prophet had only known that kind of angels: zealous and efficient, the kind who would let her starve and get buried under burning sand. Now, after all that happened to him, he knew exactly how she felt that day. Sick. Betrayed. Spiteful. Abandoned.

Heartbroken.

And apparently, time did not ease her pain.

_Seeing an angel here, after all this time, must terrorize her completely_, he understood.

"**You're right**," he conceded. "**I did not understand how cruel He was. You did nothing wrong, and we all abandoned you, excluded you from the very land God promised. I'm sorry**."

Despite the inner battle tormenting her, the prophet was surprised to hear the exact words she had been hoping for all her life: _You are right. I am sorry._ It came from the wrong angel's mouth, but still. Her priest did try to teach her about forgiveness. The thing was, said priest was currently hyperventilating hard inside the building. One "sorry" wasn't enough to redeem centuries of hate towards his race.

"**I'm not asking for forgiveness,**" he explained, like he could hear her doubts, "**I'm asking you to help us defeat God.**"

Moses jumped. Her jaw could have dropped to the ground.

"**I should have led with that, shouldn't I?**" the angel realized.

That jest released a bit of the tension surrounding them. Nevertheless, Moses could not dare to think it was true: Castiel, the good little soldier, defying his Creator? Not even Gabriel dared to do it. Lucifer, the favorite son, only scratched the surface and got an eternity of damnation. Just like her current situation. Had that stupid feathered mess not understood the lesson? Anyway, he wasn't laughing...

"**Are you insane?**" she dramatically inquired.

"**We don't really have a choice. He took the fight to us**."

"**Oh, **_**He **_**started it, I see,**" the prophet rolled her eyes, half amused and half nervous.

The thought of God being pissed enough to dirty his own hands was really scary. But interesting. Once again the woman's curiosity was picked: how did they manage to make Him flip his shit? Him, the king of the disregard for his creations. She unwittingly let out a smile, letting her excitement show.

"**It's not funny.**" Castiel argued, not knowing what to draw from her reaction.

She clearly snickered this time. "**You pissed off God, it's pretty funny.**"

"**That's why we desperately need an archangel**," he insisted.

"**I bet you do.**" Why not Lucifer then? He'd always been easy to reach. But of course, even in the darkest of times, even when they're proven he had a point, angels would never seek his help. Typical. So, what she really said was: "_**Seven**_** archangels wouldn't suffice, Castiel**."

He silently nodded. Surprise shook the prophet: "**You want to die trying?**"

"**I want to win,**" he explained, determined. "**And to have my brother at my side when I do**."

_Kami-Cas_, she thought. Still, Moses could feel her emotions submerging her, and her stupid attempts to diffuse the tension with play on words were really inefficient. That conversation not only revolved around someone who had owned her heart for years, but Castiel's last sentence aimed at her own filial bonds as well. Her own brother.

The prophet took a long breath and closed her eyes.

How she would have loved to win by his side. How she longed to forget how she actually won _against _him. The smoke, the fire, the spite. His juvenile face, deformed by pity at first, then by hate, and finally by the flames that melted his cheeks as he screamed. Behind her eyelids, her pupils took a golden color. How many times had she begged Gabriel to erase those awful memories from her mind... Everytime he did, they untiringly came back. Nightmares and daytime terrors often pushed her to isolate herself; now, she faced it alone, but back then, he was always there to support her.

And now she was thinking of her archangel again. That, no one ever had the power to erase, even for a minute, no matter how hard she'd wished.

Moses sighed deeply as she opened her now yellow eyes again. "**Is he really alive?**"

"**No**." the angel clarified.

She was at loss. A few minutes ago, he said… Or was it just to piss her off?

It pleased her still, in a very selfish way, that she wasn't kept out of the loop. She thought out loud. "**So... you'd need me to... bring him back... from… What? The Empty?**"

He nodded, astonished that she was familiar with the concept. Castiel didn't comment, but took a mental note that the wildest rumors he had heard about her might very well be true. Gabriel explaining where angels went when they died meant they had covered all other topics of conversation.

"**Even if I could do that,"** she conjectured, already convinced she could not, "**he would never fight his father.**"

"**I think I could convince him.**"

"**Yeah. I thought that too.**"

Before a tear rolled out of her eye, she quickly caught it. "**Why are we even talking about this, uh? I'd love to help you kick God's ass. But Gabe's dead.**"

She was already starting to head back to the church, dangerously close to putting an end to the conversation. Castiel grabbed her arm as gently as he could. "**There is a way to bring him back, and it will take one of his Prophets to do it.**"

"**Do you actually believe that?**"

She tilted her head, finally taking a closer look at the true face she had been avoiding, although the angel had let her see it from the moment he arrived.

He looked much weaker, somehow broken. These last years obviously hadn't been kind to him. His scars. His _wings… _Heaven had done that do him. Nothing could harm an angel like that, except other angels. Moses could definitely believe he had rebelled. She could believe he wanted God gone.

She didn't have to forgive anything, she thought, but maybe she could just stop hating Castiel―and only Castiel―for a moment. An angel like that, she could trust. Maybe not completely, but at least enough to explain. "**I've lost decades of my life trying to get Gabriel back when he was still alive. Why would you think I could do it now that he's dead?**"

Castiel sighed. "**You have to. Before God does.**"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

On her left, Castiel was silently driving her car. All of her personal belongings were scattered on the floor and the seats of the Saab 2002, but the angel had had the decency not to comment as she made room for him and threw her stuff in the backseat, upsetting her snake.

Castiel had not said a word about her having a giant reptile in her car either. He already knew what the beast was and that she had him. Without explanation, she had put her overprotective special pet in the trunk, since he fortunately liked secluded and dark places and she wanted to avoid any accident. As long as she kept her calm, Uraeus would chill out, she hoped.

Even though Castiel wasn't commenting, the prophet avoided his judgment by faking an interest for the rain drops running on the window. The night was already dark and Moses was grumpy: car drives were a bust when she wasn't the one driving; she had never realized her car was loud, bumpy, and had awful old seats that hurt your bum with every turn of the road… Since neither of them were talking, the angel had turned on the radio a few minutes before, but when she heard the first seconds of Wham's _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_, the woman abruptly turned it off.

In a sigh, she stated: "**I don't understand why you can't just zap us wherever we're going.**"

"**Since you insist on bringing all of your stuff, I can't**," Castiel lied.

Moses could sense his lack of trust, but that was exactly her point! Since he obviously didn't want her to know where they were going and how to get there, why not just―she actually snapped in her mind―zap?

Maybe he couldn't do that anymore. The angel now hid his true face from her view, but she remembered exactly how miserable his wings looked.

Silence fell on the two of them again, but instead of turning back to the pitch-black window like a sulking child, she broke it once more to try another subject: "**So where did you find this ritual of yours?... It's not the one from the Book of the Damned, right? 'Cause witches don't know shit about archangels.**"

Castiel squinted, as he usually did. "**How do you…**"

He abandoned his sentence in mid air as she explained: "**The only thing I could never get my hands on was the Angel tablet. Lucifer wouldn't say where he hid it**," she sighed.

The driver informed: "**We had it. But there's nothing on reviving archangels on it**."

It was her time to squint and stay dumb at this revelation. _Wait, "had"?_ The angel took advantage of her bafflement and explained: "**There was an old vessel of Lucifer that tried to bring him back. He managed to communicate with Lucifer in the Empty and he told him how to do it**."

_Oh. So Luci's dead_, _then_, she realized. She shook her head.

"**Well, the ritual Lucifer knows about requires... a Nephilim**," she laughed.

"**Yes, we know**," Castiel confirmed, once again surprised by the reach of her knowledge.

She couldn't think of what to say, as she tried to interpret the meaning of his answer. They knew. So, did they find a way to go around it? Did they actually find a Nephilim? Could she even have _missed _the birth of a Nephilim? Since the car was getting close to the destination, she didn't have the time to think about this any further: Castiel suddenly placed two fingers of the prophet's forehead, instantly putting her to sleep. A loud hiss came from the trunk, reminding the angel of the snake's presence, but it calmed down right after.

The celestial being sighed in relief while Moses' neck fell on her headrest.

She opened her eyes to a quiet darkness. Her brown gaze faded to gold without her even thinking about it, and Moses started to distinguish shadows, furniture corners... nothing she could recognize for sure; there was maybe a table, over there was a chair. That was it.

The room had no windows, so the prophet could not tell how big it was, or where the walls even were. Too anxious to move, she felt like she was floating in an infinite place, except her feet were touching the ground. There was no sound, apart from a quiet ventilation buzzing. However, the air still smelled musty, like it had been breathed by at least four people before her.

It meant she was somewhere people could breathe, though. Not in space, then, that was reassuring. Carefully, she took a step forward, eyes wide open and pupils desperately searching for light; then she waited. Nothing reacted to her movement, not a sound, not a draught. A little more confident, she took a few more steps with her hands in front of her, groping in hope to find a light switch of some kind.

Suddenly, the woman felt a cold contact and squealed as something fell and dramatically broke with a loud clatter. Heart pounding against her chest, she forced herself to remain as silent and still as she could, waiting for something to happen. Some beast, drawn by the sound, maybe. Something supernatural. Wasn't she hunting some ghouls before she... Fell asleep? Or was it vamps?… This was probably a creature's lair… What else?

_Hell?_

Suddenly, red lighting flooded the room and the relative calm was broken by an annoying alarm. The blonde suffered from the noise, but the new found light helped her determine her environment better: a rectangular table with four pretty sharp edges, a considerable amount of chairs all around it, dozens of libraries built within the walls. Five feet ahead, the room continued down a few steps and led to more books and chairs, and a telescope; practical, she grabbed a glass piece from the object she'd broken in her groping, before she swiftly advanced towards the rest of the room.

There also were computers here. The more she thought about it, the less she could remember being on a hunt. But she was almost sure a car was involved… None of the computers worked, she noticed after carefully pushing all of their ON buttons. Amongst the books, she opened one at a random page: blank. Another one, same. What was the meaning of all this? Did she get kidnapped? The red light continued blinking, but the alarm stopped a few minutes after it started, and the ambiance went back to morbid.

Going back up to the spot she had woken up, holding the glass tight in her scarred hand, she realized they weren't any trace of broken glass anymore. Just like that, her hand felt empty too. She frowned.

"**Who**'**s there?**" she finally asked out loud.

There was no one else with her. She called out again louder, turning on herself to catch a glimpse of a possible attacker. The prophet didn't get any response, not even her own voice echoing.

A scratching noise startled her however, down on the other table. There now was an old radio post on the table. She got closer, her heartbeat fastened: this was not there before, she knew it... The object searched for a radio station in vain and kept on making that annoying noise, until suddenly…

_You put the boom boom into my heart  
You send my soul sky high when your lovin_'_ starts  
Jitterbug into my brain…_

Moses fixed her eyes on the radio for a few seconds, caught off guard. What the… Who the hell was messing with her head?!

_I was dreaming, but I should have been with you instead!_

The chorus went on, as she realized there could only be one explanation to all this. The continuity errors. That awful song.

"**Miss me yet?**" a voice she knew all too well asked behind her. George Michael's voice faded and became a distant echo compared to the true voice of the archangel.

"**You**'**re dead,**" she only whispered.

She could feel his presence behind her, but resisted the urge to turn back. Every time she'd done that in one of these dreams, it had resulted in her feeling miserable for the rest of the following day, and it definitely was not worth it. Still, what she decided didn't really matter because two seconds later, Gabriel was standing right in front of her, forcing her to face him.

"**Am I?**" he jokingly answered, as a smug smile created dimples on his cheeks.

_Yes_, she confirmed in her head, avoiding eye contact. She had felt him dying. Twice. The first time was in a dream just like this one, but it took place in a vintage hotel and he died by Lucifer's hand. The second time was real, though. The pain was much different and more true: it felt like she was dying along with him.

Just like he had read her mind, he playfully reacted: "**But you didn**'**t die. So maybe I didn't either.**"

"**I don**'**t have time for another dream**," she ruled.

"**Why, **_**dvash***_**, what do you have to do?**"

He knew she couldn't remember, and the frustration his remark caused didn't help his case. In a last effort to make him disappear, she threw her fist in his direction, expecting that it would to go right through an illusion she knew all too well. Instead, it abruptly met his live chest.

Surprised, she opened her fist and had just enough time to feel one heartbeat against her burnt palm before she mechanically stepped back and turned away. On his part, Gabriel had had just enough time to notice: "**You still have the scars**."

Slowly, and with a flirty head tilt, he took a few steps forward and she sighed as his arm slid around her waist to bring her closer. She could smell his scent, soft, reassuring. As he hugged her, he reached for her hands and interweaved his fingers between hers.

"**How-**" she started.

"**Don't think about it too much,**" the angel interrupted her. "**We don't have a lot of time.**"

A few seconds passed before the overwhelmed human finally turned around and properly returned his embrace, burying her face in his neck without even thinking about it. Just like she used to do. A long time had passed since she last saw him, but his true face hadn't changed; it was a different vessel, but she had dreamed of it before. The previous one was taller, blonder, with darker skin and way shorter hair. He seemed exactly the same, though. Even if he wasn't as large, or as tall as before, she still felt tiny and vulnerable when he held her. In between all her resentment, she had never admitted how much she desperately missed the angel. Just him being there, for real. Feeling his warmth, his hair on the tip of her fingers, his breathing in her ear…

"**I still got it,**" he chuckled as he softly brought her head up, sliding a finger under her chin to bring her mouth closer. Moses' heart was about to break her chest―or so it seemed. How she longed to kiss him, just so they could finally connect, so that she could make him understand how much she...

"**Wait. No**," she intervened, abruptly pushing him away. These thoughts were forbidden. _I'm supposed to be mad at you_, she remembered_._

Gabriel lost his smile.

"**Okay, I**'**m dead**," he unwillingly admitted, pouting. Awkwardly, he twirled on himself. "**But it**'**s not your mind playing tricks, it**'**s **_**me**_**. **_**I'm **_**the trickster here.**"

Rubbing her head, she raised a skeptical eyebrow and took her most weary tone: "**How could you do that from the grave, dumbass.**"

The archangel stepped forward again, a silly grin was back on his face as he erased the room with a swift hand gesture. Darkness surrounded them both again, only their bodies stayed lit up. This time, the ground was gone and felt like sand under Moses' naked feet. The sensation was familiar... but far from agreable.

"**I'm in the Empty,**" he explained.

Gabriel sounded annoyed but she could see his eyes glowing with excitement. To her own surprise, she responded:

"**I know.**"

And she did. The cloud in her head was slowly disappearing and letting the memories resurface. A little more theatrical than she knew him, he started walking slowly around her, and she couldn't keep herself from turning her head to follow him.

"**I was asleep,**" he told her. "**Never really been asleep before, it's kind of boring, ain**'**t doing that anymore.**"

Moses' gaze finally plunged deep into his eyes. Needless to say he had the same eyes she'd always known on him. _He's awake in the Empty_, she recapitulated, unhappy, _I have to do it, now. _She didn't like being forced. She told Castiel she'd try, but the truth was she hadn't made the decision yet. Now, what choice did she have?

"**I know what's going on,**" the archangel continued. "**I know what Dad is up to**."

Moses let out a smile. "**Want me to knock you out?**"

This sounded like a joke, but he knew what she really meant. _Do you actually care? Wouldn't you rather be able to ignore His bullshit like you always did? Aren't you gonna leave, then? _Dreams were sweet and shielded you from pain, but the closer she got to waking up, the more she remembered how he ran away and left her behind the minute God had told him to. As she recalled that, he suddenly looked grave and stopped circling, grabbing her sleeve. "**You need to do as Cas says**."

A serious Gabriel was a rare sight. But she had witnessed it before, and was not going to let it soften her. As coldly as she could, she didn't dare to get out of his grasp but pointed out:

"**Cas trusts you.**"

_Like I did_, he could almost hear her add. Fair enough, yes. And she didn't even know how many times he had already let down Cas and the Winchester bros. He lowered his head, and his hair did that thing she loved where a strand fell from his forehead and brushed his cheek, so she closed her eyes. "**You think I can do it too**," she simply noted.

Trying to look careless, he raised his eyebrows and nodded. "**I know you will**."

In an annoyed sigh, she opened her eyes again and frowned. He didn't answer her question properly: it sounded like she had said "will", and not "can". He seemed to think it rested on her will to do it, not her actual ability to. She was getting really frustrated and time was running out, so he made it clear:

"**Look. You don't trust me, fine. But if you believe for one minute that I would harm humanity…**"

Triggered, she immediately corrected: "**That's not what I'm saying, I**-"

"**I hijacked your dream, just so I could give you the words,**" he severely cut, pausing just long enough to place his hands in her neck, just behind her ears, to force her to look him in the eye. **"So listen up, you stubborn**_** a-ton.****_"

The incantation was long, but as the words came out of his mouth he could see how she was concentrating to remember them, and as soon as he was done, he added:

"**Use your blood, and Jack's. Then, I swear...**"

The prophet grabbed his wrists so he'd have to let her go. "**Don't**."

His word meant nothing. But now that she was actually facing him, it was obvious that she would still believe him, whatever he said, and she wouldn't handle another broken promise. Still, her mind was now perfectly clear: she had to bring him back, but it didn't mean she had to stay after that. She would do the ritual, then leave, that was the right thing to do. The thought made her feel a lot lighter; and this dream was the perfect goodbye. So she grinned at him, and authorized herself a display of affection. Hugging him close, she planted a kiss on his cheek and muttered: "**See you in a minute.**"

* * *

* Honey, in ancient hebrew. Like the food, yeah.

** An ancient hebrew word meaning "female donkey". Gabe's a charmer.


End file.
